part in the conversation. There were present from forty to
fifty people, all seated on benches. Alcott sits in a pulpit
with his face towards the people, and begins the conversation
by reading something aloud. On this occasion it was
from the writings of Pythagoras. He is a handsome man
of gentle manners, but a dreamer whose Pythagorean
wisdom will hardly make people wiser now a days. He
himself has lived for many years only on bread, fruits,
vegetables, and water, and this is what he wishes all other
people to do; and thus fed, they would become, according
to his theory, beautiful, good and happy beings. Sin is
to be driven out by diet. And the sacred flood of enthusiasm
would constantly flow in the human being purified
and beautified by diet. Both the proposition and the
conversation were in the clouds, although I made a few
attempts to draw them forth. Alcott drank water and we
drank—fog. He has paid me a few visits, and has
interested me as a study. He passed last evening with
me and Benzon, and entertained us with various portions
of his doctrine. Every blaond and blue-eyed person,
according to him, belongs to the nations of light, to the
realm of light and goodness. I should think Lowell would
be Alcott's ideal of a son of light; all persons however
with dark eyes and hair, are of the night and evil. I
mentioned Wilberforce and other champions of the light,
with dark hair. But the good Alcott hears an objection
as if he heard it not, and his conversations consist in his
talking and teaching himself. We drank tea, and I
endeavoured to persuade Alcott to drink at least a glass of
milk. But that was too much akin to animal food. He
would not take anything but a glass of water and a piece
of bread. He is at all events a Transcendentalist who
lives as he teaches.
I have accepted some invitations for this week. I am to dine on Sunday with Laura Bridgeman at the house of her second creator, the director of the Deaf and
